


Dark Grey

by ladyxgreywolf



Series: Loving Him Was [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gift Fic, Script based, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyxgreywolf/pseuds/ladyxgreywolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unbeknownst to Thorin, his company of thirteen dwarves (and plausibly a burglar hobbit) is about to be extended - by a half-elf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BriseisKenobi (YT user)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=BriseisKenobi+%28YT+user%29).



> This is a story that is entirely inspired by the wonderful BriseisKenobi over at YouTube and her videos about Thorin and Elénia. It is dedicated to her and Elénia is her character - I just decided to see if I could do her videos justice by writing the story down :)  
> Plan is to write one story for each movie, hence why it's part of a series, but that might change. Rating might change as well!

The night sky was clear above her head as she walked through the sleeping village. Not the usual village, though; nothing like Bree, which she had passed through a few days ago. Here the houses were not above ground but below it, carved out in the grassy hills, with round doors and windows and chimneys on top of the hills showing where people were living. She had not seen a single one of these inhabitants, which disappointed her; she would have liked to meet a hobbit on the way, or at least see one from afar. She had read about them, of course, but meeting one would be entirely different and it would be nice to have some idea of who they were, beyond how old books described them.

     She had received the message from Gandalf the Grey four weeks ago, causing her to as inconspicuously as possible make her way towards the location the hobbits lived in; the Shire. The old wizard had refused to tell her exactly why she was needed. Not that he had said anything but “meeting in Hobbiton, look for my sign” and then today’s date – the 25th of April – but she trusted the old man with her life and knew instinctively that he wanted her to be swift and silent. So far no one had followed her or even noticed her; after so many years out in the wilderness she knew how to blend in, conceal her female traits and detect every piece of valuable information that careless travellers on the road fed to her. Not exactly what her mother had wanted her to end up like, but she was her father’s daughter; wild, untamed and deadly with a bow and arrow. A sword as well, though that was not her preferred weapon.

     There was a sound coming from the road winding through the hills, causing her to go on full alert once more. Her keen eyes had no trouble spotting the rider that approached her hideout and in most other cases she would not have bothered with it at all. This rider, however, was different. His hair was long, wild and dark, streaked with silver that gleamed in the starlight, a light that also reflected in the beaded clasps of silver holding together two thin braids, which begun at his ears and fell down onto his chest. A broad chest, at that, and wide shoulders, upon which rested a furred coat and a worn travelling cloak. Starlight also reflected on the clasp of his belt, the dull silver gauntlets and much paler mail, which seemed woven into his regular tunic. But most of all the light reflected in his eyes. Even from where she was seated she could determine their colour; clear blue, like pale sapphires.

     And there was one more thing about him, which even the most terrible spy could not have failed to notice; the man was not a man, but a dwarf.

* * *

Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, secured his pony in the small grove, hidden from the main road leading through Hobbiton, and paused momentarily to count the number of beasts already tied to this place. Sixteen, counting Gandalf’s horse. Everyone who had said they would come was here. A good thing.

     He then turned, looking out over the location itself instead. He had never gone this far west and hobbits were not something he had ever encountered before entering this part of the world, and those he had met along the road were cheery, drunk and completely unaware of who he was. He knew that some of his kin used the roads here to transport goods, thus hobbits were not unaccustomed to dwarves, and one dwarf probably looked like any other to them. Good as well; the less attention he received from them the better.

     After contemplating this he walked back down to the road, rounded the large hill with the oak growing on top of it, and marched up to the round green door. A glowing mark was etched upon it, causing him to huff. He should have expected the old wizard to leave such a faint mark as to where their meeting would be held. Simply saying that it would be inside a large hill in Hobbiton was not enough, as the village consisted of only hills. This was the third he had purposely ridden past to see if he could find the wizard’s mysterious sign and letting Thorin ride around in circles was not a good way to start a meeting, especially when he had travelled so far and had not eaten since the day before. He gritted his teeth momentarily before banging on the door, three times. The sounds he had previously heard coming from inside silenced at once, which caused him to hear the crack of a dry branch very clearly. His head snapped in the direction of the sound, his eyes narrowed and his hand moved towards the hilt of his sword as he eyed the thicket further down the road to his right. There was no movement other than what was caused by the light breeze, but Thorin did not avert his gaze. Not until he heard the door he was standing in front of being pulled open, at which point her slowly looked away from the thicket and eyed the tall man with thick grey beard and bushy eyebrows who greeted him. He shot him a pointed lock to show exactly how annoyed he was about being led astray.

     “Gandalf”, he then greeted, a sarcastic smile tilting his lips upwards, “I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice.”

     He marched into the home, which had rounded walls and ceilings, and doors and windows. Everything seemed to be more or less round. Not at all like the square shapes of dwarves. Dwarves, yes, there were twelve of them already there, standing in a door leading into the hallway. Dwalin stood at the front, an amused smirk on his lips. Thorin briefly returned it.

     “I would not have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door”, he then continued while unclasping his cloak.

     “Mark?” an unfamiliar voice behind him said. “There’s no mark on that door; it was painted a week ago!”

     Thorin shot a brief glance at the speaker; a hobbit. Bronze hair and gangly build, uncanny for hobbits, who were traditionally round. Like their houses. He then looked the other way and saw his nephews approach; Fíli and Kíli, his sister’s sons and his heirs. Fíli, who had inherited his Dís’ cornflower blonde hair, and Kíli, who according to some looked like a spitting image of Thorin when he had been their age. Except for the eyes; where Thorin’s eyes were blue, Kíli’s eyes were dark, like his late father’s had been.

     “There is a mark”, Gandalf said, drawing Thorin’s attention once more, “I put it there myself.”

     The wizard glanced in his direction, before gesturing at the still frustrated hobbit.

     “Bilbo Baggins”, he said, giving the hobbit in question a name, “allow me to introduce you to the leader of our company; Thorin Oakenshield.”

     The hobbit turned to face him and Thorin studied him intently.

     “So”, he said, “this is the hobbit.”

     He certainly did not look like much, but Gandalf had said that this small being would work perfectly for their mission. They needed a small person to act as their burglar and hobbits were as small as they come. The look on Bilbo Baggins’ face, however, showed that he was greatly annoyed at having his evening disturbed by a group of dwarves and a wizard.

     “Tell me, Mr Baggins”, Thorin said as he walked around him, inspecting him further, “have you done much fighting?”

     “Pardon me?” Bilbo Baggins replied, frowning in confusion. Thorin huffed; no muscles at all. How did the wizard expect this creature to survive in the wild?

     “Axe or sword?” he still asked. “What’s your weapon of choice?”

     “Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know”, the hobbit replied, straightening up, his eyes gleaming briefly with pride before he cleared his throat and went back to looking like a scared mouse. “But I fail to see why that’s relevant.”

     “Thought as much”, Thorin replied, shooting Gandalf another pointed look before looking at the dwarves surrounding them. “He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”

     Several of the dwarves laughed at that and even Gandalf cracked a smile, though Thorin doubted it was genuine. After all, he had not given the hobbit a compliment.

     He then moved to follow Dwalin into the adjoining room, knowing full-well that his cousin would make sure he got something to eat and that everyone sat down for the meeting. However he had not even managed to cross the threshold when there was a new knock on the door. Thorin quickly glanced around, counting the dwarves once more. Thirteen, counting himself. All accounted for. The memory of the branch he had heard snapping upon his arrival caused his hand to once more travel towards his sword, a movement not undetected by the rest of his people. Or Bilbo, for that matter, since he quickly jumped aside as Gandalf opened the door. It occurred to Thorin that the wizard did not seem worried about the knock at all, which everyone should be as this meeting was supposed to be a secret. Rather he acted like he was greeting an old friend.

     “Elénia”, he said, smiling at whoever stood outside the door, obscured from Thorin’s view by the wizard himself, “how good of you to join us.”

     The old man then stepped aside and revealed a woman dressed as a man, a hunting bow and a quiver of arrows on her back. She shrugged off the hood of her cloak, letting loose a whirlwind of chestnut curls. Thorin thought he caught a whiff of pine needles coming from those curls, the same kind of pine that had grown near the Lonely Mountain in his youth. This woman, however, could not have come from there. Impossible.

     As if hearing his train of thought she turned towards him, cocking an eyebrow in his direction as her dark eyes studied him intently.

     “So”, she said, “this is Thorin Oakenshield.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An uncomfortable dinner.

Elénia was intrigued. An assembly of thirteen dwarves, a wizard and a hobbit in a hobbit hole, far from any prying eyes. And the leader, a living legend. Thorin Oakenshield. She had heard quite a few tales about him during her travels and now found herself wondering how many of them that were true.

     He looked good, for a dwarf. There was no point in denying that. Had he been a man he would have had both female elves and women running after him, no doubt. But he was a dwarf, not a man or elf, and he definitely did not approve of her presence. She had seen surprise in his eyes right when she entered and he had seemed rather at loss at what to do next, but now those blue eyes were narrowed; suspicious, angry and cold.

     “Who is this?” he asked, turning towards the wizard instead of addressing her in person. His voice was low and rumbling, a perfect complement to his good looks.

     “This is Elénia”, Gandalf explained. “I invited her to join us for supper.”

     “And then what?” Thorin growled.

     “Then we’ll see”, the old grey man replied. “Elénia can be trusted, Thorin. I asked her to come here because of her knowledge of the wilderness. She is a Dúnedain.”

     Thorin’s eyes narrowed even more and he turned his eyes towards her instead.

     “I will not have an elf-friend sitting in on this meeting”, he spat out, then turned to march into the room that held a dining table.

     “Then it might please you to hear that I’m not an elf-friend, as you call it”, Elénia said to his back. Thorin stopped, but he did not turn.

     “The Dúnedains have always been allied with the elves”, he said. “Do not try to make me believe otherwise.”

     Elénia rolled her eyes while unfastening her cloak.

     “Well, in my opinion elves are tiresome and too aloof”, she said. “Trust me; I’ve had enough of those for a while.”

     She then turned towards the hobbit, who had been watching the exchange with wide eyes.

     “Master Hobbit, do you have some food to spare for me? A piece of bread or an apple would do just fine.”

     The hobbit blinked, then nodded.

     “Of course, of course”, he said and rushed off down the corridor to some pantry or another. In the corner of her eye she saw some of the younger dwarves smirk at the sight, but most kept looking at her with suspicious eyes and Thorin stomped off to take a seat, at the head of the table and with his back towards her. His tall, bald lieutenant placed a bowl of stew in front of him before seating himself. The other dwarves quickly filed in as well, as did Gandalf, who sat down on a stool next to Thorin. He looked far too big for the room and she wondered if she looked the same; they were almost the same height, although she was slimmer. Or maybe that was the long grey cloak that Gandalf was always dressed in that fooled her.

     “Sorry”, the returning hobbit said, drawing her attention, “there wasn’t much left, but...”

     He held out a piece of bread, a slice of cheese and an apple. Elénia smiled at him.

     “This will do fine for me”, she said. “Thank you, Master Baggins.”

     “Bilbo”, he said. “My name is Bilbo.”

     “Bilbo”, she repeated. “Thank you.”

     The hobbit nodded, then looked in the direction of the dwarves.

     “Do you know what they’re all doing here?” he asked.

     “No”, Elénia replied and sat down on the floor. It seemed all chairs that could be spared had been moved to the dining table. Sitting on a floor was fine with her, however; she had sat on much worse. Bilbo fidgeted a bit where he stood next to her, seemingly contemplating finding her a chair or at least a pillow to sit on.

     “You should get in there as well”, she said before he was able to say anything about it.

     “What?” he said, frowning in confusion. “Why? This has nothing to do with me.”

     “I think it does”, Elénia replied and took a bite from the apple. “Gandalf always has reasons for what he does. If he places this meeting in your home, then it will have something to do with you.”

     Bilbo stared at her, before quickly scurrying into the dining room and squeezing in behind Gandalf. He did not sit down; there were no spare chairs. Instead he stood in the shadows, his eyes darting from one dwarf to the other. Elénia did not see much from where she sat, but she heard what was said nevertheless.

     “What news from the meeting at Ered Luin?” one dwarf asked, his beard white as snow. “Did they all come?”

     “Aye”, Thorin replied, nodding slightly, “envoys from all seven kingdoms.”

     A happy chatter broke out among the dwarves in reply.

     “And what did the dwarves of the Iron Hills say?” Thorin’s lieutenant asked. “Is Dáin with us?”

     Thorin’s back tensed and he put down his spoon. A sigh escaped him, audible even from Elénia’s position.

     “They will not come”, he said, his voice tinted with bitterness. “They say this quest is ours and ours alone.”

     He reached for the tankard of mead while the other dwarves grumbled in disappointment.

     “You’re... going on a quest?”

     Bilbo. Elénia smiled at the hobbit’s question. If he had not been curious the dwarves would certainly have continued to talk as if everyone was already perfectly aware of what was happening. If she had voiced the same question she doubted anyone would have answered her, or possibly Gandalf would have done so once they were able to talk in private. Now, however, everyone seemed to decide that a run-through of this mentioned quest would be a good idea.

     “Bilbo, my dear fellow”, Gandalf said, turning towards the hobbit, “let us have a little more light.”

     “Oh, yes, of course”, Bilbo replied and squeezed behind his back as quickly as possible, scurrying out into the hallway and grabbing a candlestick from a shelf. Gandalf, meanwhile, had leaned forward and taken out something from the inside of his cloak. A folded parchment, it seemed, and Elénia strained her neck to see it.

     “Far to the east”, the old wizard said while unfolding the object, “over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands lies a single, solitary peak.”

     Elénia blinked in surprise. There could not be many places in this world that could be described in such a manner. Bilbo, who had now returned with the candlestick and held it over the unfolded parchment, soon spoke the name of the place she had already figured out would be displayed on the object.

     “The Lonely Mountain.”

     “Aye”, a gruff, red-bearded dwarf said, “Óin has read the portents and the portents say it is time.”

     Bilbo shot a glance back at where she was seated and set his candlestick down on the table before returning out into the hallway. He had barely gone halfway when another dwarf, this on grey-haired, spoke up.

     “Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold; when the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.”

     Elénia glanced at Bilbo, who stood frozen halfway through the hallway, blinking as if trying to understand a foreign language.

     “The... what beast?” he asked, turning around. A dwarf seated on Thorin’s right, his head adorned with a strange-looking hat, took his pipe out of his mouth.

     “Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible”, he said, “chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals...”

     “Yes, I know what a dragon is”, Bilbo interrupted, causing Elénia to huff silently behind him. He did not seem to notice, but for some reason Thorin did, as he shot a glance at her over his shoulder.

     “I’m not afraid!” the youngest-looking dwarf said, standing up at the other end of the table. “I’m up for it! I’ll give him a taste of the Dwarfish iron right up his jacksie.”

     “Sit down”, the dwarf next to him hissed and pulled roughly at his arm, while the other dwarves started talking rather loudly. Elénia nibbled thoughtfully on the piece of bread Bilbo had given her while the white-bearded dwarf spoke again.

     “The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, but we number just thirteen. And not thirteen of the best, nor brightest.”

     If the crowd around the table had not been in uproar before it certainly was now, since the dwarf had managed to insult the majority of the attendees. Someone suddenly slammed his tankard onto the table, a young dwarf whom Elénia had to strain to see.

     “We may be few in number”, he said, “but we’re fighters. All of us, to the last dwarf!”

     “And you forget”, the dark-haired, even younger dwarf next to him filled in, “we have a wizard in our company! Gandalf will have killed _hundreds_ of dragons in his time.”

     Elénia stopped herself in the last minute from taking another bite of the bread. Gandalf a dragon slayer? Seriously, was that what these dwarves thought he did?

     “Oh, well, now...” the grey wizard protested.

     “How many, though?” the dwarf who had pulled down the dwarf who had proclaimed that he was not afraid of Smaug asked.

     “What?” Gandalf said.

     “How many dragons have you killed?” the dwarf clarified. Gandalf leaned back, focusing intently on his pipe and mumbling some incoherent words while the dwarves around him started betting on how many dragons he had killed. The discussion grew heated and dwarves all around the table rose, shouting at whoever sat opposite them. Everyone except for Thorin, who seemed to know the truth. He remained seated for a few moments longer before he rose slamming his hands into the wood.

     “ _Shazara_!”

     The effect of the word was immediate, causing Elénia to blink in surprise at the speed with which the other dwarves seated themselves and fell silent.

     “If we have read these signs”, Thorin continued, “do you not think that others will have read them too? Rumours have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the Mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours?”

     He paused and raised his hand.

     “Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?” he roared, receiving a roar in return from his assembly. “ _Du Bekâr! Du Bekâr!_ ”

     “You forget”, the white-bearded dwarf said as Thorin seated himself again, “the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the Mountain.”

     “That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true”, Gandalf said and waved his fingers in the air. Suddenly there was a key there, a key that Elénia could tell was of Dwarfish fashion, with its stiff shape and dull metal. The dwarves around the table seemed to realize the same as there was a collective sharp intake of breath.

     “How came you by this?” Thorin asked, his voice quiet, almost on the verge of a whisper.

     “It was given to me by your father”, the wizard replied, “by Thráin. For safekeeping. It is yours now.”

     He handed the key to Thorin, who took it in his left hand and stared at it, as if it was something out of a dream.

     “If there is a key”, one of the younger dwarves said, “there must be a door.”

     Gandalf nodded.

     “These runes speak of a hidden passage into the Mountain”, he said and pointed at the parchment on the table, “to the lower halls.”

     “There’s another way in!” the young, dark-haired dwarf said, a wide grin on his face.

     “Well, if we can find it”, Gandalf replied, “but dwarf doors are invisible when closed.”

     He sighed, then pointed at the parchment again.

     “The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle Earth who can.”

     Then, to Elénia’s surprise, he looked out at her.

     “Elénia”, he said, “perhaps you can give it a try.”

     “Me?” she said, frowning. “Why do you think I’d be able to find something in a map that even you can’t detect?”

     Gandalf gave her a pointed look, one that seemingly did not go unnoticed by Thorin, whose eyes were dark as he looked at her. With a sigh she rose and brushed off, then walked across the hallway and leaned down to view the object that the others had been able to see so far but she had not. A simple map of the famous Lonely Mountain, with words and arrows pointing in directions of other locations; the ruins of Dale, Esgaroth, the Iron Hills and the Grey Mountains. She had been there, travelled those lands, and somehow she felt as if she longed to go back there, despite it being nothing but wastes, cold air and long winters.

     “Are you able to find anything?” Thorin asked to her right, his tone clipped and cold. She shot him a glare out of the corner of her eye, before gently picking up the old parchment and studying it. At first she thought there was indeed nothing that she could detect, that they would need more skilled eyes, but then, as she angled the parchment so that it lay right in front of her eyes, she saw it. The slight rise, indicating that something was written that she could not see. Something invisible, except for under the right conditions.

     “Moon runes”, she said. “It has to be.”

     Thorin cursed in Khuzdul, something that was mimicked by several others around the table, while Gandalf grumbled something inaudible.

     “An easy thing to miss”, he then said.

     “Not for an elf, it seems”, Thorin said, his sharp blue eyes turning to glare at her. There was another sharp intake of breath around the table, but Elénia barely noticed; she simply glared back at Thorin.

     “I am not an elf”, she said. He huffed in mock amusement.

     “Really? I don’t see how you’re able to fool anyone. Dúnedains may be blessed with a long life, but they do not possess a fair skin. You, however, do.”

     The next moment her fist connected with his chin, sending him crashing to the floor.

     “Call me an elf again and I’ll break your arm off”,  she hissed. “Maybe even both of them. I’d like to see you fight a dragon with no hands.”

     Before he could reply she stomped out through the green door, slamming it behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Shazara" = silent  
> "Du Bekâr" = to arms


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before a quest, there are doubts...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, guys! Quite a short chapter but still; it's a chapter! I'm gonna try to make a schedule for writing and posting chapters for both this and my other stories, because otherwise I won't get anything done.

Thorin was staring at nothing in particular while listening to the conversation between Bilbo and Gandalf in the next room. The hobbit had not taken well to the plan of breaking into Erebor and the risk he would be in – and the multiple ways of dying that were listed in the contract he had been given earlier that evening. In fact he had fainted due to that very reason and was now, most likely, not going to join them on their quest. Not that Thorin had ever truly believed he would; Bilbo might not be as round as other hobbits were, but he was still a hobbit and wanted nothing but the comforts of home. Running around in the wild with a group of dwarves he had just met were as far away from that as it possibly could be.

     “It seems we’ve lost our burglar”, Balin said, waking him from his thoughts. The white-haired dwarf, Dwalin’s older brother and Thorin’s cousin, as well as chief advisor, looked down the corridor at the now disappearing hobbit.

     “Probably for the best”, Balin continued with a sigh. “The odds were always against us. After all, what are we but merchants, miners, tinkers and toymakers?”

     He gave Thorin a pointed look.

     “Hardly the stuff of legend.”

     Thorin smiled fondly at his cousin. Balin had always been someone who rather stayed back while his younger brother and cousin went to battle and his now snow-white hair and beard were clear signs that he was getting old. Perhaps too old to make the journey back to Erebor, at least according to himself. Thorin, however, knew better; all Balin had ever needed was a little push, a little whiff of that mountain air, and he would be as fast and agile as Fíli and Kíli.

     “There are a few warriors amongst us”, Thorin thus pointed out.

     “ _Old_ warriors”, Balin retorted.

     “I would take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills”, Thorin said and straightened up, “for when I called upon them they answered. Loyalty. Honour. A willing heart. I can ask for no more than that.”

     With a grunt, Balin rose from the bench where he had been sitting.

     “You don’t have to do this”, he said. “You have a choice, Thorin; you have done honourably by our people. You have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains, a life of peace and plenty.”

     Thorin drew a deep breath and felt the small seed of doubt that had been in his heart ever since the meeting with the other dwarf lords grow. Balin was right; their new home in the Blue Mountains was thriving. People were happy. He had watched Fíli and Kíli grow up there, helped Dís raise them when the boys’ father had passed away. His life had been good.

     And yet, there was that ever present dream of the Lonely Mountain. Of the view he had had in the mornings when he went up to the guards to inspect them, overlooking Dale and, further away, Esgaroth. The smell of the pines. The sound of the miners below them. The feeling of home.

     “From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me”, he said and held up the key Gandalf had given him earlier. “They dreamt of the day when the dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me.”

     Balin studied him in silence for a few moments, before he nodded.

     “Then we are with you, laddie.”

     Thorin gave him a grateful smile and watched the older dwarf disappear down the corridor. His eyes then stuck on one of the round windows and narrowed his eyes. Elénia was outside. She was seated on a small bench, wrapped in her cloak and with her face turned up towards the starry sky. His jaw still hurt from where she had punched him and he would very much have liked to see that she had left them alone, but obviously whatever reason Gandalf had had for asking her to come here was enough to make her stay.

     Thorin, however, would not have that. He did not want some elf to join them on their quest, not after what they had done to his people. Muttering to himself he put the key away and stomped out through the door. Elénia hardly reacted to him slamming the door behind him.

     “Has the mighty Thorin Oakenshield decided to try and chase me off?” she called over her shoulder.

     “You are not welcome here”, he replied. “I will not have you as a member of this quest.”

     “Well, lucky for you I’m not here for your silly little quest”, Elénia spat out. “I’m here because Gandalf requested it. Not that I have any idea why; it’s not like I can help you read that map anyway. All I could do was tell you that you needed someone who could read Moon Runes and that, o great Thorin Oakenshield, is not me.”

     “Gandalf does not decide on the members of this group. I do. And you are not welcome, elf.”

     Elénia rose and spun around, cloak flying around her shoulders as she stomped up to him. Her dark eyes gleamed.

     “I am no elf”, she growled. “Wasn’t that punch to your majestic jaw enough to tell you that? Shall I do it again to make my point?”

     “You are an elf”, Thorin replied, glaring back, “and if you punch me again I’ll make sure that you do not leave this place alive. I’ll string you up myself.”

     “I would like to see you try.”

     Her hand was resting on the hilt of a short sword, ready to draw and attack. Thorin cocked his head in a silent invite to do exactly that, but Elénia simply straightened up and laughed bitterly.

     “Men”, she muttered. “Doesn’t matter what race you are; the moment a woman claims to be a fighter you see it as a joke. You think you’re the only one in this world who’s lived a bad life, dwarf? That your people are? That no one else has had to fight to survive, day in and day out?”

     “From what I’ve seen of elves...”

     “Still not an elf”, Elénia snapped. “I’ll carve that on your face if I have to.”

     “From what I’ve seen of _elves_ ”, Thorin repeated, crossing his arms over his chest, “you have no care in the world except for your own people. And those are well fed and clothed and protected from everything that happens outside your city walls. None of you has fared the way we have since Erebor fell. Since we were betrayed by you.”

     “Look”, Elénia said and drew her hair back, “no pointy ears. I’m no elf.”

     This was true, Thorin realized; Elénia’s ears were as round as any man’s. The movement also showed him another thing; her hands were not hole. The pinkie on her right hand was completely cut off, as were the upper joints of her left long and index fingers. When Elénia realized what he was looking at she dropped her hands, hiding them inside the cloak, but Thorin’s mind was working at full speed. He had never seen an elf with disfigured hands, or any other sort of disfigurement.

     “You should know, Thorin Oakenshield”, Elénia said, drawing his attention again, “that I’m not leaving until Gandalf asks me to do so. I’m here because of him, not because of you and your quest. And when I leave – and believe me, one day I will – I won’t go around bragging about meeting you or knowing where this quest is heading. Because by then this foolishness will have already brought you to an early grave.”


End file.
